Pretending You're Mine
by MistressOftheMind
Summary: A bittersweet EnglandxReader lemon. England pretends that you love him as you pretend England is the man you love. Warning: You may dislike the reader, but don't let that discourage you from reading!


England was enjoying his day as much as he could. He had discovered a great new recipe for scrumptious coconut scones, his Earl Grey was at the perfect temperature, and the rain outside granted such a soothing atmosphere to compliment his rest. Yes, a nice, calm day it was. No duties to tend to that day, no other nations to deal with that day, no distractions, just peace. That is, until he heard a knock on the door. He hesitated, curious as to who could be interrupting, but convinced himself that it could be an ordinary human being selling products, or something of the sort. He set his tea down on the end table and tended to the door. Without thinking, he opened the door without checking for who it was.

And there you were. Immediately the peace died. The calmness evaporated. The tranquility fell six feet under. He didn't hate you, no, quite the opposite. He smiled at your presence, with hope that the following time spent with you wouldn't be like all the other times. He wanted nothing more than for you to fall into his arms and tell him that you meant the world to him. But it wasn't that simple. He knew how this would go. You would ask for the dreaded favor, he would attempt to either confess his feelings. He would fail, and then he'd try to avoid granting you the deed, in failure. Then afterwards, you would descend, having no idea what it meant to him, leaving England to tear himself apart. But it couldn't hurt for him to try, could it?

"Hello, England…" You muttered, not really making eye contact. Like any other time. You never wanted to look at his face when the two of you were alone. Despite this, he remained open and welcoming,  
"How has your day been, _?" He greeted, "You must come in, I've got snacks prepared."  
"You were expecting me?" You asked, almost enthusiastically, and turning a bit more towards his face.  
"Ah, no, but, I usually like a good snack about now. Let me take your coat…" He offered, gentleman-like. You let him, barely participating in the removal. You made your way to where you remembered he usually ate and sat. He joined you soon after, bringing a cup of tea for you and a plate of scones.  
"Is there something on your mind, _?" England asked, knowing full well that that was your reason for coming.  
"You realize yesterday was Valentine's, right?" You said with a snarky attitude. You could hear England's nose lightly release a breath of frustration.  
"Yes, I know. I haven't celebrated it in quite some time, though. Falling in 'love' with other countries isn't wise, and it hurts too much to fall in love with normal humans," the Brit explained, with a saddened expression you refused to look at. You were silent a few seconds longer, thinking over what to say next before England continued,  
"So what happened yesterday? Have you confessed to him yet?" Your host asked. You swallowed a sip of the hot tea before answering, "He didn't understand. I told him I loved him, but he thought it was a friendship thing. I couldn't just tell him what I meant after that. I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong…" your voice began breaking a bit. You felt England's arms wrap around you.  
"You've done nothing wrong, love. Why don't eat a scone?" He offered in an attempt to soothe you. But you pushed the plate away.  
"I hate those disgusting things,"  
England could never understand one specific part of the process. Normally you were quite sweet. A bit on the shy side, some could even say. But when it was just the two of you, you became a brat. Until the highlight of the process, anyways. You always smiled in the Brit's presence in public, but in privacy things changed, and if the deal between you two didn't exist, neither would this behavior. It was a puzzling factor, and whether it was worth it was always a hot debate in England's mind.  
You turned your head at England, still not making eye contact, but staring at his chest instead. Before long, you stood up and homed in on your destination.  
"Your room," You demanded, making your way upstairs. England sighed. Another loss. It went so quickly, he had no time to try to convince you to love him instead, or just kick you out.

He followed you upstairs, where you removed your outer layer of clothes before hopping on the bed. When he caught up, he got right into it, climbing onto the bed and over you, crashing his lips against yours. You kissed so passionately, so sweetly for a girl who just spent your time insulting him for the last ten minutes. You pulled up at his shirt, signaling for him to remove it. He did so, followed by you climbing onto his lap and feeling his chest as his hands swept over your shoulders and down your back. Before long, he unhooked your bra and cupped your soft breasts. The way he massaged you was so splendid, just as any other time. He gave the outside circles of the domes a squeeze, then repeated closer to your nipples, but starting over just before he arrived there. After finally working you up enough, he would compensate the attention to those tits he found so adorable with his tongue, then teeth, before taking them into his mouth. Next, the two of you work to remove his pants and underwear. As you took his member into your mouth, he faced the first difficult part of the deed. Just as every other time, the astonishingly pleasing way you could get your tongue around made it difficult for England to keep from moaning. It was never spoken about, but he always tried not to make a sound—he knew you wouldn't like it. He wasn't supposed to be him. He was supposed to be the man you loved, for the time being. Occasionally he would slip up from the utter bliss he received from you, but you managed to look over it for the most part. Tension built up as his cock occupied your mouth and you couldn't help but let your finger do the same to your wet pussy. Before he got too close, you stopped, laid on your back and spreading your legs, ready for him to return the favor. He obeyed your signal, removing your panties, once again being graced by the presence of your vagina. He fingered you lightly first, then deepened at a quick pace. He wanted to see if he could build you up with his fingers alone, and found himself rolling your clit in between two fingers, then pinching them.  
"Ah-ah…!" He was pleased with getting a noise out of you, so he moved on to using his tongue. The taste was always strange at first, but became addicting as he pressed on.  
"Ah…mmmn…" You would moan, increasingly fueling his desire. He got to a pattern he could tell pleased you, sing his tongue to trace your pussy, sink deeper in, and then surface again to flick your clitoris. But when it got too intense you asked him to stop. It was time for the main event. He grabbed himself and pushed his penis in from above you. You two were close as he pushed in. His head was right above yours as your breath mixed with his. Your hands grabbed his shoulders and he pumped into you, digging your nails in when he hit your spot and the pleasure intensified. You were slightly more lenient about his moaning when you couldn't hear it above your own. His growls of pleasure were drowned out by your wails of ecstasy. When he felt his climax coming, he pinched your clit to insure that yours came simultaneously. The perfect rhythm of love was nowhere near perfect. As he tried to enjoy himself as quietly as possible while retaining his orgasm, you delivered to him his least favorite part of the entire process.  
"Ah…Ah! America!" You screamed the name of a country who wouldn't hear you. England despised that part. It reminded him that his romance with you was entirely a fantasy on both ends. He pretended that you loved him while you pretending that he was America.

Followed by England's least favorite part was the part that perhaps made it all worth it. You were always knocked out after sex, every single time. You fell asleep on England. Your sweet face made you look almost innocent. He kissed you on the forehead and snuggled for the hours ahead, pretending as if he would grow a pair and tell you off next time. But he knew he wouldn't. This bittersweet agreement could go on forever, unless you ever did manage to gain America's attention. Until then, England would pretend that you were his as you slept.


End file.
